Fang Jiang's words did not move Song Yuan for long. All that talk about being true to oneself had already been thoroughly explored in Zhou Zhi's novels.

"Teacher Fang, can you truly be yourself?"

The young assistant didn't ask whether it was possible, but whether it could be possible at all. Conclusions without any operational instructions were just empty platitudes, like "be true to yourself." Everyone knows they should be themselves, but how? How? A thousand people have a thousand different ideas, a thousand different sighs, a thousand different helpless resignations.

"Yes, sometimes." Fang Jiang didn't blame the assistant for her nearly provocative question, answering as if it were perfectly natural. "When I'm alone with myself, that's when I'm truly me. As for work, you have to have the right attitude for work. Actually, it's the same in every profession—you give what you have in exchange for what you don't. It's just that in our line of work, what we give is special to some people. Many pay you not for your skills, but for their imagination of you. Don't think that's a bad thing—it's a mutual exchange."

"Do we have to wear masks?"

After starting work, Fang Jiang rarely interacted with peers. Things like sisterhood or plastic flower besties were completely absent from her life. Her verified Weibo account was handled entirely by Song Yuan and fully delegated to the studio. She only browsed Weibo using her private account and had even set her own name as a blocked keyword to avoid seeing upsetting content that might affect her mood. This strict separation between life and work was undoubtedly born from such considerations.

"Yes, who doesn't wear a few masks in this world? Even zodiac signs have sun and rising signs—isn't the rising sign just a personality mask? But masks are masks—at least beneath them is your true self. The real fear is when the mask merges with your face after being worn for too long, becoming inseparable and irremovable. If you force it off, you'll tear your flesh away with it." Fang Jiang smiled. "This face of mine is natural."

"Because you're Teacher Fang?"

The title "Teacher Fang" implied fame, money, and greater autonomy.

"Yes, and no. I have family support, and Sister Shizhen—that's my luck. They've protected me to a great extent. Beyond that, I also need to know who I am. Wanting to be yourself, right? Being yourself carries risks too. Otherwise, why do so many people who could choose for themselves insist on letting others choose for them? At the slightest provocation, they claim they were forced, that they're innocent, that it's someone else's fault. Because when the outcome isn't what they wanted, they have someone to blame. When they can't face failure, they have someone to blame. If you choose to be yourself, you have to bear everything alone. If you want to blame someone, you can only blame yourself—or maybe God. Everyone's path to themselves is a road no one has ever walked before. Besides its inherent difficulties, you also have to endure the fear of the unknown. Being yourself is truly difficult. Look at your goddess Cheng Hanzhi—hasn't she been working hard to be herself too? Xiao Yuan, the key is in the previous sentence: I won't judge you because of your preferences."

Song Yuan burst out laughing. "Teacher Fang, you're truly a very, very good person. Being able to work for you is my good fortune."

Fang Jiang retorted, "Flatterer. Just do your job well."

Song Yuan was about to say that her favorite author had said similar things, but then she noticed Fang Jiang smiling at the clouds outside the window, as if her spirit had momentarily wandered beyond the sky.

Following her gaze, there was nothing outside but clouds.

Zhou Zhi once wrote that clouds are both illusory and real—people can see their own fate and their own hearts in them.

Song Yuan strained to see—what was in those clouds? Besides water vapor and tiny ice crystals, what else? She couldn't make it out.

Teacher Fang had seen something once again.

Receiving Fang Jiang's PPT felt nothing short of a surprise. The delight came from still being remembered, while the shock stemmed from the peculiar way in which she was remembered.

Before accepting the file, Zhou Zhi couldn't help but mutter, "I hate receiving files on WeChat the most. Last time was an emergency, you know?"

Unexpectedly, the file turned out to be a masterpiece of humiliation, delivered with utmost sincerity—truly living up to the saying, "What goes around comes around."

As she flipped through the pages one by one, she finally understood how Fang Jiang must have felt watching her work that day.

It was bittersweet—extremely bittersweet. Not only were her knees shot through, but her heart felt riddled with holes.

Beyond the pain of being hit where it hurt, Zhou Zhi also felt an indescribable sense of flattery. It was somewhat like the feeling in the Japanese drama God, Please Give Me More Time, where the superstar played by Takeshi Kaneshiro tells every fan he has a one-night stand with: "I chose you."

The structure was clear, the logic rigorous, the language concise, and it was richly illustrated. It even included a SWOT analysis for her—couldn't be more thoughtful, couldn't be more considerate.

For a big star not only to act childishly at her age and retaliate in kind, but also to find the time to personally create a PPT—her manager really ought to increase her workload.

Zhou Zhi was curious about how much Fang Jiang had contributed. Her intuition told her that this piece of work likely came directly from the star herself—Fang Jiang seemed like the type who would personally deliver a slap in the face.

Two days had passed since she sent out the PPT. Fang Jiang had been busy for two days, but during work breaks, her mind would wander to this bomb that had seemingly sunk without a trace.

Without even a basic response, she felt bored and somewhat disappointed.

Her original intention had been to provoke Zhou Zhi—their argument that day had been quite thrilling—but she didn't actually want Zhou Zhi to get truly angry. True anger would mean that person was narrow-minded, which would be dull.

Clearly, she was the one who had been rejected.

Clearly, she was the one who received the PPT first.

Clearly, she had written it impartially and without bias, investing time and effort into it, even enduring many eye-straining materials.

So why was it Zhou Zhi who ignored her?

What gave her the right?!

Her mood soured, reminiscent of her childhood days at the amusement park when she found a playmate, agreed to meet again the next day, only to show up and find the other person absent.

Finally finding someone interesting, only to realize they weren't as fun as imagined. Fang Jiang sighed.

Even the new work opportunity brought by Meng Shizhen couldn't shake off her listlessness.

A response had come from Kikujiro. The good news was that he wanted to invite Fang Jiang to play a role, the bad news was that it wasn't the female lead she had originally eyed—the one who would appear throughout the film. Instead, it was the disfigured teenage idol in the second segment, originally played by Kyoko Fukada.

Kikujiro said the story would be revised, and the final version wasn't settled yet. The only certainty was that the teenage idol would be rewritten as a popular actress matching Fang Jiang's vibe—perhaps even more extreme, deviating entirely from the original Dolls.

"No matter how they revise it, it'll probably still end with disfigurement. Jiang Jiang, what do you think? If you're genuinely interested, I'll negotiate with them."

"What's your take on it?" Judging by her tone, Meng Shizhen didn't seem too optimistic about this film.

"First, let's talk about the role. In the original film, that character didn't have much screen time—either singing foolishly or spacing out by the river. The character also has bad omens. After being disfigured, she refused to see fans because she didn't want them to see her face. One fan gouged out his own eyes just to meet her, and on his way back, satisfied, he died in an accident. It gave me chills when I first watched it. Then there's the box office—it's an art film, gloomy and obscure, so ticket sales are worrying."

Fang Jiang said leisurely, "When I first considered this film, it wasn't for the money."

"Right, initially, it was because of the director and the potential for awards, all for the sake of the female lead—a character present from start to finish, even if she's a fool, at least she's the female lead. But this role now only has about fifteen minutes of screen time." Meng Shizhen crossed her legs and took a sip of her Starbucks coffee. "The director said if you're interested, he'd require you not to go out or take on other projects during filming. Look at your schedule—you don't have any large blocks of free time. Besides, didn't you mention wanting to rehearse a lesbian play? There's bound to be a scheduling conflict."

It was only at times like this that Meng Shizhen remembered that play she had never supported or agreed to.

"Who would play the female lead?"

"Haven't heard anything yet."

"Did he say why he wants me for that role?"

"He only said your image doesn't fit the female lead. He wants someone who looks simple-minded—oh, I mean, innocent, someone who looks innocent."

Fang Jiang's hand, which had been reaching for her phone, paused. "Isn't that popular idol simple-minded?"

"Didn't they say they'd adjust it to suit your style?" Meng Shizhen glanced at her. "Are you waiting for a delivery?"

From the moment Fang Jiang entered, Meng Shizhen sensed her distraction—constantly checking her phone, her mind seemingly elsewhere. Wasn't she supposed to be back to normal lately, not grinning foolishly? Could it be "withdrawal symptoms"? With all the recent awareness about depression—early detection, early treatment—actors were a high-risk group. Seeing Fang Jiang's gloomy expression, Meng Shizhen grew concerned.

"No, what delivery?"

As Fang Jiang placed her phone back on the table, the screen lit up, revealing a message in the center.

Stinky Baldy: Sorry it took me so long to reply...

Fang Jiang perked up—better late than never.

"Sister Shizhen, let's talk later. I need to reply to this first."

Meng Shizhen, without her contact lenses, barely made out three words.

Whose message could be so important? She looked toward Song Yuan, who was diligently taking meeting notes.

Song Yuan shook her head—she didn't know.

They watched as Fang Jiang, a smile playing on her lips, opened the screen and stared intently.

Stinky Baldy: I've been struggling with how to tell you this. Well, um, thank you. I've watched it many times...

Then the dialog box showed: The other party is typing...

After watching it many times, then what? Then what? Just say it already—it's truly agonizing.

Fang Jiang couldn't wait any longer and directly pressed the voice call button. After a moment's hesitation, the other side answered.

For a while, neither spoke.

Fang Jiang heard a dog bark and laughed. "Is that Gang Kai?"

"Ah, ah, yes, it's Gang Kai. How did you... Hey, hey, not calling you, shoo, not playing now, I'll play with you later. I'm busy, don't disturb. Sorry, I'm walking the dog, and it wants me to play frisbee with it."

Walking the dog? Only thought of me while walking the dog? Fang Jiang frowned.

"Um, um, Miss Fang, thank you."

Some words convey one feeling when written, but hearing them in person evokes another. Sensing Zhou Zhi's sincerity and emotion, Fang Jiang immediately understood that when it came to the PPT issue, they were the same kind of people—able to withstand criticism while deeply valuing others' thoughtful efforts.

A shared understanding brought her comfort, she hadn't misjudged this person.

"Is that all?"

"Well, I'll keep working hard."

Silly woman, Fang Jiang thought.

"Ah, also, Miss Fang, I need to apologize to you. Actually, your acting is quite good, really—I'm not comparing you to others. Aside from the romantic scenes feeling a bit forced, everything else is genuinely good."

"Oh, you watched it again? Didn't you say it was a brain-dead drama?"

"I didn't watch it completely, just saw quite a few clips—the ones focused solely on you."

Fang Jiang beamed, still smiling even after hanging up.

Meng Shizhen couldn't comprehend what was so delightful about this. "Acting is quite good," "romantic scenes a bit forced"—was that supposed to be praise? If anyone said that to her, she'd be furious.

"What's there to be happy about!" Brain-dead drama, brain-dead drama—yet it had high ratings, okay? It had tons of viewers.

"She watched it for me." Either Baldie loved the house and its crow, or she was drawn in by her aura—either way, it was good.

Lunatic.

Meng Shizhen shot her a sidelong glance. "Lots of people watch it for you. Look at your fans—there are so many of them."

"That's different."

Meng Shizhen thought she was seriously unwell. That day, she should have taken a closer look to see if some bewitching talisman for clouding minds was sprayed on Baldie's head. Otherwise, how could one encounter turn the usually composed artist Fang Jiang into such a frazzled mess?

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